


All Other Bliss

by bea_meupscotty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Infidelity, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 01:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_meupscotty/pseuds/bea_meupscotty
Summary: After the war, Draco Malfoy becomes an Auror assigned to be the partner of Harry Potter. The pair strike up an unlikely friendship, which leads Ginny down even more unlikely paths.~(extremely) loosely Arthur-Lancelot-Guinevere inspired.





	1. Joy and Pain

**Author's Note:**

> A plot bunny that wouldn't go away until I gave into its demands to be written. This will be very loosely Arthurian-inspired but please don't expect strict adherence to the source material (not everyone is in the role of one of the knights, no one is going to wind up at a nunnery). Any comments or reviews are much appreciated!

  
As fast she fled thro’ sun and shade,  
The happy winds upon her played,  
Blowing the ringlet from the braid:  
She looked so lovely, as she swayed  
The rein with dainty finger-tips,  
A man had given all other bliss,  
And all his worldly worth for this,  
To waste his whole heart in one kiss  
Upon her perfect lips.

_Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere, Alfred, Lord Tennyson _

__

* * *

The kitchen at the Burrow was for once blessedly, miraculously quiet, the only sounds the hushed rush of water from the sink mixing with soft humming as Molly Weasley waved her wand, washing the vegetables for dinner, and the gentle scratching of quill on parchment as Hermione frowned down at a stack of paperwork, chewing on her bottom lip in concentration. Ginny had a stack of plays in front of her that she was meant to be working through, but instead she simply let her eyes drift shut and take in the peacefulness she hadn’t known if she’d ever be able to enjoy. 

Suddenly, her eyes jerked open at the roar of the Floo and the sound of loud, creative swearing coming from the living room in familiar voices. 

Well, the peace had been good while it had lasted. 

She rose and turned to where Ron and Harry were making their way into the kitchen, newly clad in the robes of graduates from the Auror program. They were supposed to be here to celebrate, but from the grim look on Harry’s face and the red bluster of Ron’s, it didn’t seem that celebrating was really in order. 

“Go to Kingsley, tell him that you absolutely won’t do it. He’d change it for you, you know he would,” Ron was saying as the two rounded the corner into the small kitchen. 

“No, I’m not going to asking for special favors,” Harry said stubbornly, though the set of his jaw made him look as if he were very much considering it. 

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked, looking between her brother and her boyfriend. Her mum had left the potatoes to finish themselves and even Hermione had paused in her scribbling to look up at the boys. “You’ve both actually passed everything, right?” She made a quick sweep of their robes, which were, in fact, no longer the trainee robes. 

“Yes, but we were—” Harry started, before Ron interrupted.

“Harry’s got stuck with _Malfoy_ as his partner!” 

“What?” Ginny exclaimed, echoed shortly by Hermione, who looked perplexed.

“But I thought the protocol is that you’d get partnered with someone more senior,” Hermione said, brow furrowed as she tried to take in this new piece of information. Trust Hermione to think first of protocol. 

They’d all known that Draco Malfoy had joined the Auror program; it had been an uproar when Kingsley had given them all the heads up after he’d first been accepted. Malfoy, like Ron and Harry, hadn’t had any NEWTs, having spent what would have been his final year trapped in his home by Voldemort, but, after Harry’s testimony had kept him out of Azkaban, he’d told the Ministry he wanted to be an Auror. Kingsley said he’d interviewed the boy personally, had believed he truly wanted to atone for the mistakes he’d made in his past, and had administered the initial assessments, which Malfoy had passed with flying colors. None of the former Gryffindors were exactly _thrilled_ with Malfoy’s new position, but Ron and Harry had been certain that he’d drop out at some point, and, when it had become obvious that that wasn’t going to happen, had just been happy that he’d mainly kept to himself. Two years later, obviously that hadn’t worked out exactly as they’d planned.

“Well, it’s supposed to work that way,” Harry said, slumping down into a chair and sounding resigned, “except with all the vacancies on the force because of the war, and all of the new recruits, there weren’t enough. So the two trainees with the best scores on our final assessment got paired together.” When the room was silent, he gave them all a scowl. “Malfoy and me, obviously.” 

“Ron’s right, you know,” Ginny said, scooting her chair closing to Harry’s and putting a comforting hand on his arm. “You could always go to Kingsley and ask for a switch. He’d completely understand.” 

Harry shook his head. “No, no. I already said, I don’t want any special treatment just because I’m me.” Ginny bit her tongue, refraining from pointing out the fact that Harry and Ron hadn’t a single NEWT between them, and hadn’t been forced to take the preliminary assessments either before they’d joined the program, which in and of itself seemed like quite a lot of special treatment. “Besides, if Malfoy’s going to be an Auror, it might as well be me who keeps an eye on him and makes sure he’s not up to no good.” 

Ron grunted in approbation, admitting that Harry had a point there about the ferrety git, and the group was interrupted by the twin sounds of her mum’s kitchen timer dinging and Mr. Weasley’s voice ringing out over the rush of the Floo. 

“Well, dears, at least we still have cake,” her mum said, pulling out the large chocolate cake she’d made in celebration and proffering it to the group with a desperate smile.


	2. Tears and Smiles

The first few months of Harry’s unexpected pairing with Malfoy passed with little incident. Harry would come home grumbling about Malfoy most days, but there wasn’t much bite to his complaints, at least not that Ginny could hear. Malfoy had been cold, Malfoy was slacking, Malfoy had said this or that mean thing, Malfoy had criticized his dueling technique. Honestly, the two of them sounded just like they had most of the time in school (her fifth year, when the stakes had been all too real, notwithstanding)—silly boys with a silly rivalry, trying to insult and one-up each other. And they were supposed to be Aurors, Ginny thought with a huff. 

Her time had been taken up by her new position on the Holyhead Harpies. When she’d first been recruited, it had been to the reserve team, but after one of the first string Chasers had taken a nasty hit from a Bludger that had exacerbated an old injury, Ginny had been faced with the opportunity to earn a permanent spot on first string and had thrown herself into it wholeheartedly. She’d been spending all her spare time practicing, or going over plays, or doing extra drills and attending special camps, anything to catch the attention and approbation of the notoriously harsh Gwenog Jones, coach of the team now. Which was why, late one Wednesday evening, the redhead was not at home, but was instead on the Harpies’ practice field, soaring high enough above the ground to see the sea stretching out endlessly on one side of her, glimmering red in the setting sun’s light as she ran through yet another set of maneuvering drills. She saw movement from the corner of her eye, but shook her head, focusing on the task before her, and it was only the shrill sound of the coach’s whistle that brought her to a halt. 

She shot across the field to where the whistle had come from, her heart rising to her throat in panic as she caught sight of the distinctive silhouette of Kingsley Shacklebolt standing next to her coach. She had barely slowed enough to land safely before she was barreling over to where the pair were standing, eyes looking at Kingsley in silent pleading. 

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” 

The older man sighed, giving her a sympathetic look. “He’s alright now, Ginny, but… Harry was hurt in a raid today. He’s at St. Mungo’s—” Kingsley trailed off, turning to follow the redhead, who was now storming off the pitch and toward the Floo connection in the locker rooms at a breakneck pace. 

What felt like for Ginny an interminable number of years later, but was in reality barely ten minutes, she was throwing open the door to Harry’s room, ignoring the sounds of Kingsley apologizing to the disgruntled St. Mungo’s staff she’d bowled over and left in her wake. She finally felt like she could breathe again as the white wood swung back and revealed Harry, sitting up in bed, eyes bright and amused at her entrance. She exhaled relief that he was there, awake, _alive_, and then she noticed that he was bare-chested, with bandages wrapped around various spots on his torso and arms. 

“Harry,” she breathed, and rushed to him, flinging her arms around his neck. “Harry James Potter.” 

She heard Kingsley mumble his goodbyes, something about leaving them to it, and, she took a deep breath and let herself calm down, inhaling that distinctly Harry scent that soothed some dark part of her that was still stuck in the past, in the year she’d spent at Hogwarts fighting while never knowing if he was still out there, in the moment when Hagrid had emerged from the forest carrying his limp body. Having reassured herself that he was here, not dead, not dead, she looked up at him with flashing eyes, the eyes of someone who’d been through a war just like the rest of them. “What happened?” 

He gave her a sheepish grin, wincing only slightly as she shifted her weight to let go of the death grip she’d had on him and settle into a chair next to his bed. “Walked right into a booby trap,” he said with an apologetic shrug. 

Ginny huffed impatiently. “You idiot.” 

Harry ducked his head bashfully but didn’t protest her characterization. 

She shook her head and continued her rant. “Even if you didn’t catch it, isn’t that what partners are for? You should have never let yourself get paired up with that ferret in the first place, I don’t give a damn what his marks were, he’s a spoiled brat who spent more time running away from a fight than actually fighting, and if you’d been paired up with someone more senior this wouldn’t have happened—”

“Gin… Gin… Ginny!” Harry interrupted, reaching to grab her attention. “Ginny—it wasn’t Malfoy’s fault. He… told me to wait, and I didn’t, and then when I got hurt he grabbed me, got us out. He probably saved my life,” he said, his voice going soft and contemplative at the end, even as Ginny could tell it hurt him to admit the truth, just how close he’d been to doing some irrevocably stupid, and that Malfoy had to be the one who saved him.

“Praise? Coming from the lips of the great Potter himself?” a voice drawled from the door of the room, and Ginny looked up, startled to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway, his Auror’s robes covered in dried blood. It looked like he’d cleaned most of the blood off of his skin, but she could still see a few flecks on his bared forearms where his sleeves were pushed up, and she blanched at the reminder how just how extensive Harry’s injuries must have been. 

“Well-deserved, I might add!” From behind Malfoy a thin, specky middle-aged man with a pinched nose and gleaming eyes wearing Healer’s robes pushed into the room, shooting a beaming smile at each of the parties assembled. “I dare say without Mister Malfoy’s quick thinking Mister Potter might not be among us at this moment.” 

Malfoy looked away from the bright gaze of the Healer, and Ginny, overcome with a sudden fit of emotion she could only attribute to the rush of fear and panic that had overwhelmed her when she’d been afraid Harry had been seriously injured or worse, the memory of that dark moment when she’d thought him dead, brought to the forefront again by the sight of the dried blood on Malfoy’s robes and the Healer’s words, _might not be among us_, stood up and impulsive threw her arms around Malfoy in a crushing hug. 

He staggered backward slightly, clearly not expecting her assault on him. “Thank you,” she murmured into the spot in his robes her face was smushed against. He stiffened, clearly merely tolerating her hug, and finally she felt one of his arms come up to pat her back awkwardly. 

Ginny pulled away when she heard the sound of more shoes clattering against the St. Mungo’s tile to push into the room, and looked up at Hermione’s familiar voice. 

“Harry!” she cried, going right to his side as Ginny had. Ron wasn’t far behind her, shaking his head at the sight of Harry’s bandaged chest and arms. 

“Blimey, Harry. You alright?”

“Yes, yes, young Mr. Potter will be just fine in due time, thanks in no small part to Mr. Malfoy here,” the Healer commented again, looking delighted to have more people to talk at about healing. Two sets of eyes swiveled to Malfoy, the first Hermione’s light brown, narrowed, scrutinizing, and then Ron’s, blue and wide, disbelief apparent, looking at Malfoy as if he were seeing him for the first time. 

“It’s true,” Harry said from the bed, giving them all a wan smile. 

“Rather impressive battlefield healing, really. Quite an impressive bit of magic, to seal up Mr. Potter’s wounds like that. I’ve actually never seen the likes of it—did you by chance study to be a Healer before becoming an Auror, Mr. Malfoy?” 

“No.” The reply was short, sharp, and Ginny noticed that Malfoy was glaring at the Healer. Interesting—Ginny’s curiosity was piqued by his demeanor. The Malfoy she’d known at school would have never missed an opportunity to brag about how special or important he was, and here the man in front of her was, practically trying to turn the man to stone with his eyes for having the audacity to compliment him. 

“Really? Then where did you learn it? From Robards, maybe, he was always good with healing spells?” Malfoy was practically skinning the man with the force of his glare now, but the Healer jovially continued pressing on, seemingly oblivious to Malfoy’s efforts to commit homicide with his eyes alone. “No? Poppy Pomfrey, perhaps?”

“I learned it from a favorite professor of mine at Hogwarts. It was his own spell,” Malfoy finally said through gritted teeth. 

Ginny watched as the trio exchanged knowing glances, and was surprised when Harry, of all people, met Malfoy’s eyes for a second and then interjected. “Say, Hedgewick, you wouldn’t happen to have any more of the pain relief potion you gave me, would you? I think some of the pain’s starting to come back in my arm.” The still-oblivious Healer Hedgewick nodded eagerly and exited the room, still prattling on about pain relief potions as if any of them were listening. 

The tension in the room dissipated somewhat, and Ginny watched the trio exchange another set of meaningful glances. She fought the flare of resentment that rose up in her, old and familiar, at being excluded from whatever was passing among the three, knowing that she could just ask Harry when Malfoy was out of the room and he’d tell her. She was shocked, however, when Malfoy took a half-step closer to her, eyes on her with something that wasn’t pity but looked like grudging understanding of the nonverbal interaction she’d missed, and murmured softly, “It was Snape.”

“Oh,” she said softly, looking up at the tall blonde. She’d known that Malfoy and Snape had been close, and Harry had told her about what he’d learned about the vow that Snape had taken to protect Malfoy during her fifth year, but she’d never really stopped to think about what the pair might have shared or the effect his death might have had on the younger man. 

“Well, erm, thanks, I guess,” Ron said awkwardly from across the room, looking at a spot to the left of Malfoy’s head. “For saving Harry.” She could see that the words were costing Ron a great deal in swallowed pride, but Ginny beamed at him, proud of her brother for saying them.

Malfoy just responded with a lazy shrug. “It seems, in karmic retribution of the worst sort, that somehow it has become my job to keep Potter from running off with a half-cocked plan and getting himself killed.”

Ginny covered a snort at that, ignoring Ron’s dismayed look when he noticed the sound. It wasn’t her fault that Malfoy was right—and funny. It was sort of ironic, that after all these years complaining about Harry’s escapades Malfoy was now forced to participate in them. 

“What happened?” Hermione said, looking down at Harry with her brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Booby trap,” Harry said with the same apologetic grin he’d given her. Hermione, for her part, groaned in disappointment. Ginny knew it physically pained the witch when Harry or Ron did something stupid—it was a wonder the older girl had ever actually managed to make it out of school without dying of a heart attack or murdering one of them. 

“Hey!” Harry protested, feeling the need to stand up for himself, “there was no way I could have known there was a booby trap, and I felt pretty justified in skipping some checks. Her late husband was the one who was supposed to be a Dark wizard, and this lady was so old she was practically dead!”

Hermione simply gave him a look that conveyed, concisely and clearly, her utter disbelief. Harry’s eyes shot to Malfoy, who gave a small cough.

“Much as it pains me to say it… in fairness to Potter, the bint was 150 if she was a day, and so small she looked like picking up her wand might actually break her wrist.” 

The room was silent for a moment as they all stared in shock at Malfoy. 

Ginny was the one who broke the stunned silence, speaking slowly as she raised her eyes to Malfoy’s face. 

“So what you’re telling me, Malfoy, is that Harry… was nearly killed… by a little old lady?” 

Malfoy’s eyes shot up to meet hers, a flash of amusement that was almost warm glinting there, as a wicked smirk broke across his face. “That is exactly what I’m telling you, Weasley.” 

When Healer Hedgewick re-entered the room a few moments later holding a new supply of pain relief potions, all he could do was stare in pleasant confusion at the the motley group, who were now laughing hysterically, with not a hint of the tension that had permeated the room earlier.


End file.
